


Ghosts, and the Existence Thereof

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Friendly Arguments, Ghost Hunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: “All right. I'll give you a week to prove that ghosts exist,” Grantaire proposes. “Though I highly doubt you'll have any success, due to the fact that ghosts aren't real.”Enjolras scowls. “I'll show you."





	Ghosts, and the Existence Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent fluff.  
> This was written on a laptop with no spellcheck. Hit me up in the comments if you catch any errors. For example, within 12 hours of originally posting this, light of my life Franka (@courfee on twitter) commented to let me know that I swapped tenses like four times. Please always tell me if I do something like that lmao  
> Set in England because I haven't been back home in four months.......

“Nope. No way. Absolutely not.”

“You're joking. How arogant can you possibly be to presume to know everything?”

“This isn't arogance, this is comon fucking sense. There is no way ghosts are real.”

“ _Please_. I can't believe you're so full of yourself.”

“It's not about _me_. If ghosts were real, we'd know. There would be pictures all over twitter; videos on the news; _I'd have seen one_.”

“How can you just rule it out? How can you go: 'yeah, no way, there simply _can't_ be things that my meager brain can't understand?'”

“Did you just call my brain _meager_?”

“Yeah, I think I did.”

“Well, at least I don't believe in fucking _ghosts_.”

“Ghosts are real, you imbecile!”

“Ha! Name-callling, now, are we?”

“ _Ghosts are real_.”

“Prove it.”

“All right. Fine. I will.”

“You'll prove ghosts are real? You'll do what literally no other person has managed to do? You do know how many times people have tried to convince me ghosts exist, right? I've stayed overnight in a million _haunted_ buildings, and I've never even caught a glimpse of a ghost. Good luck.”

“I'll prove it to you. I'll make you see.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, what's ridiculous is your refusal to see beyond your incessant cynicism.”

“Some good sibilance there.”

“Fuck off.”

Grantaire grins. Enjolras is fighting a smile, too.

“All right. I'll give you a week to prove that ghosts exist,” Grantaire proposes. “Though I highly doubt you'll have any success, due to the fact that ghosts aren't real.”

Enjolras scowls. “I'll show you. You'll be singing a different tune this time next week.”

“I'm sure,” Grantaire replies, amused and doubtful.

“Yes, well,” Enjolras says, arms now folded across his chest, the very picture of indignation.

“Good response. Eloquent. Shakespearean, even,” Grantaire observes, getting to his feet and pulling on his jacket. “Keats? Is that you?” he asks, staring at Enjolras in a wide-eyed mockery of amazement.

“Shakespeare or Keats, which is it?” Enjolras asks, grumpily.

“Couldn't choose. Both were funny,” Grantaire says. “Text me about when you're going to rock my world, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” Enjolras says, fighting a smile quite unsuccessfully.

“Sure thing, doll,” Grantaire says, with a wink. “But seriously. Hit me up about them ghosts.”

“I will,” Enjolras says, firmly. The determined look on Enjolras' face makes Grantaire want to kiss him – but then, most things about Enjolras have that effect on Grantaire, and he has practise ignoring it.

 

When Grantaire gets home, he tells Joly, “I got into an argument with Enjolras today.”

Joly doesn't reply for a moment, and then they say, “I drank five cups of tea within two hours.” They look up, an eyebrow raised. “My thing is more interesting.”

“Nope,” Grantaire says. “We argued about ghosts, and the existence thereof.”

Joly takes a deep breath. “Did you pretend to believe in ghosts so Enjolras would get worked up?”

“I didn't pretend anything,” Grantaire replies.

“You don't believe in ghosts,” Joly reminds him.

“I know,” Grantaire says. “I argued against the existence of ghosts.”

Joly frowns. “Is Enjolras practising arguing against his own opinion?”

“Nope,” Grantaire says. “Enjolras believes in ghosts.”

“You're joking,” Joly guesses, almost hopefully.

“Wish I was,” Grantaire says with a laugh. “It's pretty cute though.”

Joly scoffs. “You think everything Enjolras does is cute, and if it's not cute it's hot.”

Grantaire strokes his chin, thoughtfully. “You got me there,” he admits.

 

 **To Enjolras:** starting to think u dont hav the ghosties

 **From Enjolras:** I'M PREPARING

 **From Enjolras:** YOU SHOULD TOO

 **From Enjolras:** PREPARE TO LOSE YOUR SOCKS

 

 **To Bossuet:** I LOVE HIM SO MUCH KILL ME

 

 **To Enjolras:** oh im ready .do ur worst bby.

 **From Enjolras:** My place. Tomorrow night.

 **To Enjolras:** cant wait

 

 **From Bossuet:** I kno babe ,I kno

 

Grantaire wears his best ghost-hunting attire to meet Enjolras. Leaning against the wall, sardonically seductive, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you like my outfit?”

Enjolras is wearing jeans and a crop-top, which, one, isn't fair, and two, isn't good ghost-hunting attire. Not like Grantaire. His attire is excellent for ghost-hunting.

“Why are you dressed like emo David Attenborough?” Enjolras asks.

“Harsh,” Grantaire comments. “It's my new look.”

“Your new look,” Enjolras echoes flatly.

Grantaire grins at him. “Yep.” He looks expectantly at Enjolras. “Don't you think it works?” He does a slow twirl.

Enjolras' face stays perfectly neutral. “You look... incredible, Grantaire. Truly, a fashion icon.”

Grantaire lifted a hand to his heart, touched. “That means a lot, Enj. Thank you,” he says, jokingly sincere.

Enjolras laughs, loud and sharp. “Come on, ghosts are waiting,” he says, heading out the door.

“Aren't you going to be cold?” Grantaire asks, following Enjolras, mildly concerned that Enjolras is wearing a crop-top outdoors at night. It's not like it's winter, but still. This is England. They're not exactly known for warm nights.

“Nah. I'm from The North,” Enjolras replies with a wink, and Grantaire can hear Enjolras' capitalisation of The North. “We're tough.”

Grantaire is so weak for him. He follows Enjolras down to the street, and heads towards Enjolras' car, expectantly.

“We're walking,” Enjolras says, heading past the car, looking both ways before darting across the road, leaving Grantaire stood staring after him.

Grantaire huffs a laugh and waits for a couple of cars to pass before the road is clear, and then saunters across the tarmac to where Enjolras stands. “Where are you taking me, anyway?” he asks as they start walking.

Enjolras taps his nose with a grin. “You'll see,” he says.

“And there are ghosts in this mystery location?” Grantaire asks. “That you've seen personally?”

“Ghosts that I've seen personally,” Enjolras confirms.

“So what are they?” Grantaire presses. “Little girls laughing? A kid who's known to play with toys that you leave out? There's one ghost at an asylum in America that's supposed to stab you – are yours like her?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “You read too many ghost stories. These are _real_ ghosts.”

“Tell me they're not just shadows,” Grantaire says. He stops and waits for Enjolras to stop too. “ _Tell me_ they're not just shadows that you might just happen to think you see when you turn and the light from your torch moves.”

Enjolras crosses his arms angrily. “Look, if you're not even going to be open to the idea of ghosts existing I don't know why we're doing this. We could experience the supernatural all night but if you refuse to believe then it's all pointless.”

“Oh, babe, I'd _love_ to experience the supernatural all night with you,” Grantaire says, “but you gotta give me hard proof.”

“Experiencing the superntural _is_ hard proof!” Enjolras protests, angrily.

“If by 'experiencing the supernatural' you mean we hear a little rustling or see a lighter patch of shadow move, that's not hard proof,” Grantaire starts, dismisively. “But if you mean we see a ghost, or a disembodied voice _speaks to us_ , then sure, I'll believe in ghosts. Hell, I'll campaign for ghosts to be universally recognised, or whatever it is you want,” Grantaire allows.

“Just,” Enjolras starts, unfolding his arms and clenching his fist, infuriated, “just _come on._ ” He starts walking again, a determined march. Grantaire laughs, loudly, and jogs to catch up.

“I'm just saying,” Grantaire says, leading into another reason why believing in the supernatural is absurd.

“No! Don't _just say_ anything!” Enjolras interupts. “You're so irritating!”

Grantaire chuckles. “Aw, come on, I'm not that bad,” he says.

Enjolras shoots him a dark look, but when their eyes meet, the corner of Enjolras' mouth twitches upwards. Grantaire grins in success. He lets Enjolras have one street of silence before starting up again.

“So, how far away are we going? You said walking distance,” Grantaire points out.

“And we're still walking,” Enjolras replies.

“And where are we walking to?” Grantaire needles.

“You never let up, do you?” Enjolras asks, exasperated.

“Tell me where we're going and I might,” Grantaire offers. Enjolras smiles in a way that tells Grantaire that he knows it's not true.

“We're going to the library,” Enjolras says.

“We're going to the _library_?” Grantaire repeats, over-pronouncing the word to show his surprise.

“We're going to the library _first_ ,” Enjolras says, “and then on to two other haunted locales.”

“You do know how to spoil a guy,” Grantaire teases.

Enjolras' eyes flick up and down Grantaire, teasing at flirting. “Only for you,” he says.

Grantaire looks down at his feet, worried he might forget how to walk and trip over under the weight of Enjolras' flirty gaze. His face feels hot and it's laughable that the fake attention gets him so flustered, but suddenly he's not in control of the conversation, he's not winning this moment, and he doesn't know what to do.

“Um,” he says, “so tell me about the ghosts.”

He looks back up at Enjolras, and Enjolras is frowning slightly at him. Enjolras looks where he's walking, and as he does so the frown turns into a very slight smile. Grantaire figures he's probably thinking about ghosts.

“You can wait for my ghost stories til we're at the library,” Enjolras tells Grantaire.

“Is it even open at this time?” Grantaire asks, pulling out his phone to look. Then he looks back at Enjolras when Enjolras doesn't reply. There's a distinct expression on Enjolras' face, and it takes Grantaire a second to realise that it's embarrassment. “You have unlimited access to the library, don't you?” Grantaire guesses, and it's not really a question.

“Look, I've donated a lot of money to them, and I'm good friends with a lot of the staff,” Enjolras tries to defend himself.

“You're a nerd,” Grantaire tells him, matter-of-factly.

“It's been said,” Enjolras allows. “But none of that is important! What matters is: I can get us into the haunted building at night.”

 

“You know, I take it back. Clearly, this place is haunted,” Grantaire says, raising his hands in surrender.

A cleaner is hoovering loudly, both headphones in, likely blasting music. The lights are still on and the whole library is spotless. They're standing in the children's section. Cartoon Harry Potter beams down at them.

Enjolras punches Grantaire on the arm.

“Ow! Fuck,” Grantaire says, and lightly shoves Enjolras back. Enjolras stalks off, and Grantaire ambles after him, amused and so in love. He slides his phone out of his pocket to text a friend in an attempt to relieve the rush of warm feelings.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asks, sharply.

Grantaire looks up. “Texting Feuilly?”

“Why?” Enjolras asks. He looks unecesarily suspicious.

“Because they're my friend? Sorry, do phones vanquish ghosts or something?” Grantaire asks, sarcastically, while texting Feuilly at the same time.

 **To Feuilly:** u know when enjo looks at u sdjfhkds

“Mobile phones have no effect on ghosts,” Enjolras says, witheringly, as though it's blatently obvious.

“Oh, of course. How could I be so stupid?” Grantaire asks.

 **From Feuilly:** cant relate not gay

Grantaire snorts, and then looks up from his phone to see Enjolras frowning at him. “Sorry,” Grantaire says. “I'm totally with you. Ghosts?”

Enjolras huffs. “Don't call yourself stupid,” he says, which is completely besides the point.

“What? No, I-” Grantaire tries to say.

“The ghost is this way,” Enjolras interrupts, opening a door that's clearly only meant for staff-use, and gesturing for Grantaire to lead the way.

“How much did you say you donated?” Grantaire asks, curiously.

Enjolras shoots him a slightly embarrased look.

“You're like, proper rich, aren't you?” Grantaire says.

Enjolras shrugs. “Yeah, I guess,” he says.

“I'm appalled you haven't given it all away, yet,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras glares at him. “I don't really want to talk about my charity habits.”

“Modesty? Or hiding something dark?” Grantaire asks. “Oh my God, you don't donate to charity, do you? It's all a front. I'm glad I found out now and not later on. It hurts less to know early-on.”

Enjolras laughs, and Grantaire thinks of that as progress. “Early on is five years of friendship?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah, well, I'm planning on a life of friendship, and that's a _long_ life. If you sacrifice yourself for The Cause young, I'm gonna be mad that you're throwing off my life plan,” Grantaire warns him.

Enjolras smiles, wryly. “I'll bear that in mind.”

“Do,” Grantaire says.

 

The room they arrive at is big and crammed full of books, and, supposedly, the supernatural. Grantaire, a cynic, doesn't feel particularly nervous. Enjolras, on the other hand, is practically vibrating with anticipation.

“What do you expect to happen?” Grantaire asks, curiously. Enjolras wears his emotions on his sleeves, and Grantaire has seen him excited, devastated, furious beyond description, murderous, even, but he's never seen... whatever this is.

“I expect to witness the paranormal with you,” Enjolras replies. “Maybe it won't happen here, but tonight, I believe I can change your mind.”

“That would be a first,” Grantaire observes, which Enjolras acknowledges with a nod. “I can't help but notice you haven't brought any tech.”

“I've always considered it a waste of money. This is a hobby, and money spent on equipment would be selfish and an extravagant use of money that could be better spent on people in need,” Enjolras says, without a hint of affectation. Grantaire is, as always, utterly charmed. “Besides, I don't think a spirit box or EVPs, or whatever I used, would convince you.”

“You don't?” Grantaire asks, amused.

“No,” Enjolras says, smiling at him. “I think you'd say that I'm hearing what I want to hear. I think you'd call me naïve and too easily convinced by evidence that isn't very strong.”

“I think you're probably right,” Grantaire allows. “So you're going to prove ghosts are real by nothing less than the appearance of an actual ghost?”

Enjolras beams. “Exactly.”

Enjolras sits down on the floor, legs crossed. Grantaire stares down at him, bemused. Enjolras pats the floor next to him, expectantly.

“What're you doing?” Grantaire asks.

“Waiting for the ghosts,” Enjolras says, as though it was obvious. Which, it kind of was. Doesn't make it less ridiculous, as a plan.

“Alright,” Grantaire says, and sits down too.

Enjolras holds out his hand, palm up, towards Grantaire. Grantaire arches one eyebrow, perfectly. He's practiced.

“It's good to present yourself as one,” Enjolras says. “Ghosts don't like to feel outnumbered.”

“Says who?” Grantaire asks, still not taking Enjolras' hand.

“Says me. And other ghost hunters,” Enjolras tells Grantaire firmly. “Now get it together and hold my hand, R,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire sighs. “I want it on the record that I think this is nonsense,” he says, and puts his hand in Enjolras'. Their hands clasp and fall to rest on the floor between them, and Grantaire feels the urge to scream. He's holding Enjolras' hand. In the basement of a library. Waiting for a ghost to appear.

How did he end up here?

“Hello, spirit,” Enjolras calls out. “I come as a friend. If you feel comfortable, I'd love to see you.” Then he turns back to Grantaire. “So, the story is a woman was forced to spend her whole life in hiding and this was where she hid. She lived and died here and never once stepped outside.”

“And now her ghost is stuck here too?” Grantaire asks, a little depressed by the idea.

“Exactly. Ghosts tend to come from lives of suffering and pain,” Enjolras explains. “It's why you always hear of abandoned hospitals and asylums being haunted, and murder victims haunting their homes or the place they were murdered.”

“Not just a made-up explanation for really good stories?” Grantaire asks, teasing.

Enjolras huffs.

“No, but come on,” Grantaire says. “Surely the reason ghost stories are mostly about places like that is because they're seriously creepy places.”

“Or because there are ghosts,” Enjolras argues.

Grantaire hates how fond he is of Enjolras in that moment. He loves how Enjolras picks his stance and sticks to it firmly, and he loves with all his heart that it's _ghosts_ that Enjolras has chosen to believe in, but he hates how much he loves it – loves him.

“Do you believe in God?” Grantaire asks, curious, trying to understand Enjolras' belief in ghosts.

“Maybe,” Enjolras says, and doesn't offer any further explanation.

“Demons?”

“That goes with God, I think,” Enjolras says.

“So, angels are a maybe, too,” Grantaire guesses. “Unicorns?”

Enjolras looks at him with a sharp frown and his hand in Grantaire's tenses slightly. “Back to mocking me,” he says, flatly.

Grantaire instantly realises he shouldn't tease him. “I'm sorry,” he says. “I don't mean to be a dick.”

Enjolras shrugs, and looks around the room instead of at Grantaire. The corners of his mouth are set downwards, a visible unhappiness.

“Aliens?” Grantaire asks, gently, and he rubs his thumb against the back of Enjolras' hand.

“Alien life? Yes,” Enjolras says. “Alien abductions? No.”

“So you believe in aliens in the boring way,” Grantaire surmises. “Amoebas and plankton on Mars.”

“Celular life,” Enjolras confirms, “and maybe intelligent life in another galaxy. But I think we'd know if aliens existed like they do in the stories.”

Grantaire weighs up in his mind whether what he wants to say will upset Enjolras, and then says it anyway. “So you believe in ghosts based on stories and despite the lack of proof, but alien stories are hoaxes.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath, opens his mouth to answer, and then freezes. He doesn't move for four seconds, and then he looks at Grantaire sharply. “Did you hear that?” he asks.

“Hear what?” Grantaire asks, looking around the room.

“I'm not sure, shush,” Enjolras says, which seems a little unfair to Grantaire, since Enjolras started it. Enjolras is listening intently, however, and Grantaire doesn't feel like he should disturb him. He waits, paitiently, for Enjolras to announce he heard a ghost. “I thought I...” Enjolras says, slowly. “Hello?” he calls out. “Is there someone with me?”

He waits again. Grantaire tries to make his breathing quieter.

“I thought I heard something,” Enjolras tells Grantaire quietly.

“I got that,” Grantaire quips, in a louder voice than Enjolras. “What was it?”

“It sounded like a voice,” Enjolras says, softly.

It seems wholly unlikely to Grantaire that Enjolras heard a voice, let alone the voice of a ghost. He doesn't say that. Instead, he says, “Talk to it.”

Enjolras shoots him a look, a look that says he can't believe Grantaire's going along with this. Grantaire gives him an encouraging smile. (He hopes the smile looks encouraging.)

Enjolras breathes in. He lets out the breath and then takes another before finally saying, “Is there someone here?”

Grantaire asks, “Can I speak to it?”

Enjolras nods, quickly, looking a little hopeful that Grantaire's finished teasing him.

“Hello?” Grantaire calls. “I'm hoping to speak with the person who died here,” he says, throwing Enjolras a 'See? I can behave' look.

Enjolras bites back a laugh, and Grantaire feels weightless for a second.

“I thought I heard a voice a second ago,” Enjolras chimes in. “Was that you? Could you tell us your name?”

Silence answers Enjolras' question.

Enjolras' hand is getting warm in Grantaire's hold, and Grantaire hopes his own hand isn't sweaty – he wants to give Enjolras a good impression of holding hands with him; he wants Enjolras to want to do it again.

“Do you want us here?” Enjolras asks.

Still, no answer.

“Could you give us a sign that there's someone here?” Grantaire asks. He puts his free hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He puts it on the floor in front of them. “Could you move my phone? Light up the screen? Wait-” he turns to Enjolras, “-when did you say they died?”

“I didn't. But supposedly around 1950,” Enjolras tells him. “So she wouldn't know how to use your phone.”

Grantaire huffs. “Convenient.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Are you saying I picked a person who died pre-phones on purpose? I didn't know you were going to try and use your phone as proof.”

Grantaire sticks his tongue out at Enjolras, and Enjolras looks the other way, but not quite fast enough. Grantaire saw the smile on his face.

“Okay,” Grantaire says. “Can you move the object I just put down? Give it a wiggle?”

Still, nothing happens. Grantaire leans back a bit, not disappointed, necessarily, since he didn't expect anything to happen in the first place, but a little let down on Enjolras' behalf.

“Don't give up, yet,” Enjolras hisses at him, tugging him back forwards by the hand.

“I'm not,” Grantaire promises him. “I'll give you the chance to prove me wrong, at least.”

Their eyes return to the phone, waiting, and three seconds later, the screen lights up.

With a phone call from Feuilly.

Grantaire grins and picks up his phone with his free hand. “Wow, amazing service down here,” he says to Enjolras, wryly, and answers the call.

“ _Are you hanging out with Enjolras?_ ” Feuilly asks before Grantaire even has the chance to say 'Hi'.

“Yeah, why?” Grantaire asks.

“ _On your own? Is this the best day of your life, or what?_ ” Feuilly asks, and Grantaire prays that Enjolras couldn't hear that.

“Hang up,” Enjolras says, looking put-out.

“I'll call you back later. Maybe tomorrow,” Grantaire says.

“ _Why tomorrow?_ ” Feuilly asks, in their insinuating voice.

Grantaire laughs. “In what world,” he says, and hangs up.

Enjolras is watching him intently – but everything Enjolras does is intense, so it's nothing new. “Sorry,” Grantaire says, apologising for interupting the séance for a brief chat with a friend. “I texted them earlier and they had follow-up questions.”

Enjolras' jaw tugs down to the side. He says, “What about?”

“Hanging out with you,” Grantaire admits, and forces a laugh to make it sound more casual, as though hanging out with only Enjolras isn't the best part of this month for Grantaire.

Enjolras frowns, and looks back at the room, away from Grantaire. “I didn't realise you'd told people about... this.”

“Did you... not want them to know?” Grantaire asks, stung.

“No, I-” Enjolras starts, and then stops himself. “I just- I don't want our friends to...”

“Know that you believe in ghosts?” Grantaire asks, as a grin starts to form on his face.

“To tease me about it,” Enjolras finishes, at length, still not meeting Grantaire's eyes. Grantaire's heart feels softer in that moment.

“They wouldn't,” Grantaire says. “Only I'm that much of an arsehole.”

Enjolras smiles, reluctantly. “I believe in ghosts, but it always feels like idiocy when I say it in front of people.”

“It's not idiocy,” Grantaire says, slowly.

“You think it is,” Enjolras argues. “You think I'm delusional and naïve.”

Grantaire bites his lip. He squeezes Enjolras' hand. “Maybe I do,” he admits, “but everyone knows that I don't know anything.”

Enjolras bumps shoulders with him. “I hate it when you say things like that, R.”

Grantaire's heart skips a beat and he smiles, bashfully. “You saying I'm smarter than I think?”

“Of course you are. You're a genius. You're just also very negative,” he says, smirking.

“That'll be the depresion,” Grantaire quips, and for once he gets a laugh instead of a lecture for a comment like that. “I'm not sure the ghost is coming, by the way,” he then adds, turning the conversation back to the original purpose.

Enjolras sighs. “Maybe you're right. Do you want to try our next location?”

Grantaire beams. “Lead the way, darling.”

 

The next location is a train station. It's not too cold, but Grantaire misses the library. Not to mention, an abandoned train station is much creepier than the library.

“Are these places going to get scarier as the night goes on?” he asks.

Enjolras laughs. “There's only one more, after this, but, yes, I suppose they do.”

“Oh God, if the next one's a hospital, or- or an assylum, or some seriously fucked up shit, I don't know if I can go through with this,” Grantaire warns him, only half-joking.

Enjolras grins at him, all teeth and wickedness. “But you don't believe in ghosts, Grantaire,” Enjolras says.

“Ghosts? I'm worried about murderers!” Grantaire says. “Even this is sketchy as Hell,” he points out, looking around at the bare-concrete walls, the looming darkness of the fall down to the tracks, the way the only lights that still work are old and flickering.

“I'll protect you,” Enjolras says, smiling innocently, even though he's half a foot shorter than Grantaire. In fairness, Grantaire has seen Enjolras work out, and it's not something to laugh at.

“Sure, baby,” Grantaire says. He tries to relax a little and looks around again. “Go on, then. Ghost story time.”

Enjolras sits down at the edge of the tracks, feet dangling over. Grantaire watches him warily.

“You know there are probably spiders right under that ledge?” he asks.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Keep your legs up, if you're so worried. Probably a good idea, anyway,” he adds, pulling his own legs up and sitting cross legged. “Our ghost died on the tracks. Got pushed. People say she tends to grab your legs and try to pull you down with her.”

His voice is low and menacing, and Grantaire can't help the shiver that ran down his spine. “Spooky,” he says, sardonically, putting a smirk on his face.

The wind blows through the station, a faint howelling. Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him.

“Is there someone here, with us?” Enjolras asks, reaching out for Grantaire's hand as Grantaire admitts defeat and sits down beside him.

It's good to see Enjolras is still keeping up the bullshit about presenting a unified force. One being, and all that. Grantaire can't get enough of holding Enjolras' hand.

“Please, speak to us,” Enjolras calls.

“Yeah, you coward,” Grantaire says, “appear before us and do your thing, punk.”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras says, scandalised.

“What?” Grantaire asks, grinning. “Maybe a little taunting is what she needs. Muster up some anger and she might actually appear.”

Enjolras frowns, disapprovingly. “I'm sorry,” he calls to the ghost. “We come _respectfully_ to hear your voice.”

Grantaire chuckles. “All right,” he says. “Respectfully.”

They wait in silence for a few moments, listening expectantly. Enjolras squeezes Grantaire's hand at one point, but Grantaire assumes it was an accident.

When Grantaire's been quiet long enough, he clears his throat. “This is...”

“Don't,” Enjolras says. His face looks... intense. He closes his eyes. Grantaire squeezes Enjolras' hand. He doesn't believe in ghosts, and likely never will, but he wants something to happen. For Enjolras. So Enjolras won't look so let down.

“Please,” Enjolras says, softly.

Grantaire hates that he can't make jokes, because he's so upset by the thought of Enjolras losing.

Grantaire says, “If there's anyone there, please appear to us.”

Enjolras' head turns so fast to look at him that Grantaire's surprised he doesn't get whiplash. He looks so hopeful.

Grantaire offers him a smile. Then he jumps.

“Something touched my leg!” he bursts out.

Enjolras' whole face lights up. “Seriously?” he asks.

“Yeah!” Grantaire says, as enthusiastically as he can.

“Was that you?” Enjolras calls out. “Is there someone here with us? Was that you trying to communicate with us?”

Grantaire feels so fond. Enjolras is gripping his hand tightly, leaning forward with excitement.

Nothing happens, and Enjolras leans back after a while, but he's smiling widely. Grantaire wants to kiss him.

“A ghost touched you!” Enjolras says, excitedly, to Grantaire.

Grantaire shrugs. “Maybe,” he allows.

Enjolras keeps on beaming, like nothing could ruin his good mood now.

“I hope you don't think I'm going to take that as proof,” Grantaire warns.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Of course not, but it's _something_ , isn't it? You felt something touch you!”

Grantaire just smiles. He says, after a moment of letting Enjolras' enjoy the victory, however small, “I expect harder proof, though.”

It must be getting late, and Grantaire squeezes Enjolras' hand one last time before letting go.

Enjolras asks, “Ready for location number three?”

Grantaire thinks on it for a second. “I suppose I'm not _not_ -ready,” he settles for. “I _am_ ready to get out of this prime murderer's hang-out spot, though.”

“Please,” Enjolras says, tutting at him, even as he gets to his feet and stretches. His crop top lifts even higher, and as he stretches Grantaire can see his ribs, and more skin, and Grantaire's still sitting on the ground. He looks away quickly, though he's sure he could stare forever.

“Aren't you cold?” Grantaire asks as he rises, with a little less grace than Enjolras.

“Nope!” Enjolras answers, boldly, but as they start walking, he fits himself against Grantaire's side, and Grantaire's arm automatically comes up around Enjolras' shoulders, and it's the best feeling in the world.

Grantaire can't stop sneaking glances at Enjolras as they walk in comfortable silence. He's so beautiful. So unabashed. So _marvellous_ in every way. If Enjolras notices, he doesn't say anything.

 

Grantaire is simply going to _die_.

It's a crypt. An honest to God, dead-bodies-are-housed-here, we're-surrounded-by-coffins-and-poor-lighting crypt.

“I'm going to die,” Grantaire says. “I can't go in there.”

“Don't be such a baby,” Enjolras says.

“There are dead bodies!” Grantaire defends himself. “It's _creepy!_ ”

Enjolras is looking at him like he's trying not to smile, and the expression comes off fond, and Grantaire's heart is melting.

Enjolras holds out his hand. “Here,” he says. “I won't let the dead bodies get you.”

Grantaire scowls at him, but his heart isn't really in it. He takes Enjolras' offer.

 

They're in a very dark section of the crypt. Silhouettes loom over them, shapes that look ominous in the dark that wouldn't if it was well-lit.

“I want it on the record that I don't like this,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras bumps shoulders with him. “The dead are nothing to be scared of.”

“You say that _now_ ,” Grantaire says, darkly, but even he knows he's being a bit pathetic. He takes a deep breath.

Enjolras asks, quietly, “Ready?”

Grantaire nods, then immediately realises that if it's so dark he can hardly see Enjolras then nodding might not be the best move. He squeezes Enjolras' hand. “Ready,” he says.

The process begins again, and Grantaire is used to the particular voice Enjolras uses when he's trying to convene with the dead by now. He even joins in, much more sincerely, this time.

Holding Enjolras' hand has started to feel natural, and their legs are pressed together where they're sitting on the floor. It's nice.

Except for the fact that they're surrounded by coffins.

But if Grantaire can ignore that – if he shuts his eyes and tries to focus on hearing ghostly voices – it feels good. It feels _right_ , in ways he can't explain. He knows he loves Enjolras, has known for years that likely no one will ever make him feel the way Enjolras does, but he doesn't think that it's purely his feelings making the moment feel so good.

A quiet noise filters through the room.

“Did you move?” Enjolras asks Grantaire.

“No,” Grantaire replies, honestly.

They both go silent again, listening, waiting. Grantaire holds his breath for a few seconds, trying to hear more clearly.

“What do you think it was?” Enjolras asks, quietly.

“Couldn't say,” Grantaire answers. “Could have been a rat?”

“Ew,” Enjolras replies. “Maybe it was a ghost.”

“That would be preferable,” Grantaire admits, mind flooding with the imagery of the two of them sititng in the dark, surrounded by rats.

“Is there someone here?” Enjolras asks again.

Grantaire shivers, violently.

“Did you feel something?” Enjolras asks, having felt Grantaire's movement.

Grantaire shakes his head. Then clears his throat and answers, “No.”

“Sure?” Enjolras asks.

“Positive. Sorry,” Grantaire says.

They fall back into silence. After a while, Enjolras swears.

Grantaire jerks his head in Enjolras' direction, surprises. “You okay?” he asks, concerned.

“Fine,” Enjolras replies, but his voice has turned a little bitter. “I just... I just wanted this to be good. To work out. I- I _hate_ it when I can't convince you of things.”

Grantaire relaxes, and he smiles gently in the direction of Enjolras. “It's all right. I mean, there was that leg touching incident! I can't explain that.”

Enjolras sighs. “You're just being nice.”

“When am I ever nice?” Grantaire asks, laughing.

“Uh, all the time?” Enjolras replies, almost defensively.

Grantaire lets out a disbelieving noise that's part embarrasment at the compliment. “Shut up,” he says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

“No, but you are! Sure, you can be a bit abrasive sometimes, and you like to play devil's advocate more than I strictly appreciate, but you're _always_ nice. You're always trying to make people feel better! It's just who you are!” Enjolras rants, and Grantaire's face gets steadily warmer with every word.

He pulls his hand away, utterly embarrased. “Um,” he says, “thank you?”

Enjolras sighs, and flops in Grantaire's direction. Either he's lucky enough that he manages to end up with his head on Grantaire's shoulder, or he has better eyesight than Grantaire does.

“Thanks for doing this,” Enjolras says. “Even if it turned out to be a waste of time.”

“Hey,” Grantaire says, gently. “It wasn't a waste of time. I got to hang out with you, see some cool places... I learnt more about you, too. It was nice.”

Enjolras' head tilts upwards, like he's trying to look at Grantaire to judge his sincerity. “See? You're nice,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire decides to let him have this one, since the ghost thing fell apart a little.

“We should get out of this crypt,” Grantaire says, after letting the moment pass. “It's creepy and weird and it's got to be at least midnight by now.”

Enjolras chuckles, his breath warm against Grantaire's neck.

Enjolras pulls away and stands. When Grantaire stands up, too, their hands find each other easily. Grantaire thinks his heart might literally be on fire inside of his chest.

 

When they make it outside, Grantaire takes a deep breath. He smiles at Enjolras. “Want to find somewhere open and grab something to eat?” he asks.

Enjolras still looks a little disappointed, but he lights up slightly at the suggestion. “Okay,” he says.

They make their way to the only place still open: McDonalds.

Enjolras orders a vegetarian burger while Grantaire opts instead for two portions of fries and a McFlurry. Enjolras doesn't even tease him about it; that's how nice the atmosphere between them is.

For his own peace of mind, Grantaire tries to convince himself that Enjolras isn't making eyes at him across the table, but when their feet meet under the table, and Enjolras blushes, looking down at his food with a pleased smile, Grantaire allows himself to feel a little hope.

 

As Enjolras walks Grantaire home – their hands once more pressed together – he says, “So, I suppose I didn't convince you.”

“Not really,” Grantaire says, giving him a smile to soften the blow. “Sorry. I was rooting for you.”

Enjolras laughs and bumps shoulders with him. “I'm sure,” he says.

Grantaire stops, pulling Enjolras to a standstill with him. He looks at Enjolras, intently. “Stop me if I'm misreading everything,” he warns, and because Enjolras isn't an idiot, he can see that Enjolras knows exactly where he's going.

“You're not,” Enjolras says, and then he stretches up on his tiptoes and kisses Grantaire.

Grantaire keeps their hands twisted together, but uses his free hand to wind into Enjolras' hair, holding him close, while Enjolras' free hand wraps around his upper arm, a strong hold.

Enjolras pulls away, but not far, keeping their forheads pressed together, and he grins against Grantaire's lips.

“You sure have interesting ideas for dates,” Grantaire says, feeling so happy. He wants to dance, or fly, or go and prove ghosts exist, all for Enjolras' sake.

“Bet no one's ever taken you ghost hunting on a first date before,” Enjolras agrees.

“That's for sure,” Grantaire replies. “Only you.”

Enjolras smirks. “Good,” he says, and then he kisses Grantaire again.

 

They make it back to Grantaire's eventually.

 

They can tell their friends don't fully believe them when they tell the story, later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I watch Buzzfeed Unsolved?  
> Let me know any thoughts you had while reading this!  
> Hit me up on twitter @wonderfeuilly and if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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